IV Club
by Ann Kathrynn
Summary: Updated: “So you still don’t want to be my friend?” she asks, slightly breathless, and Mark can’t help but laugh. Lexie/Mark
1. First Rule

Disclaimer: They're not mine, I'm just playing with them.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed my other stories, it really brightens my day to get reviews, and I loved reading them! It definitely is a huge help to me to know that the characters are staying similar to how they're portrayed on the show. Speaking of, this Thursday's episode was my favorite so far! It was funny at the right parts, and sad at the right parts (that whole Rosie scene was heartbreaking), and now I think I am absolutely going to find some time to watch the first three seasons that I've missed out on. Moving on...

This is another Mark/Lexie fic (shocker, I know). I'm finding it kind of a big tease, the few episodes they had together, and now they're not ever in the same scene, but I can be patient and I have my little imaginings in the meantime. This is meant to take place after 5x07 "Rise Up". Hope you enjoy! (And, as always, reviews are appreciated greatly).

* * *

Mark had heard there were dead bodies in the basement. Naturally, he'd wanted to see for himself. What he'd found instead was some sort of clandestine meeting of what seemed to be every intern in the hospital, taking turns sticking needles into each other's waiting arms (and for a crazy moment there he'd been this close to asking if they were shooting up heroin). There haven't been many times in Mark Sloan's life where he'd been rendered truly speechless, but to this he had nothing to say.

She was the first to notice his entrance (of course). She looked up from some scruffy headed intern finishing taping the needle to her skin, her mouth forming this perfect surprised sort of "oh", and her eyes widened in shock. "Dr. Sloan."

"Grey" he smirked.

Lexie closed her eyes, cringing, because whatever he was going to do next would be loud and imposing and dramatic, in true Mark Sloan fashion. He didn't disappoint.

"Interns, scatter!" Mark clapped his hands in a commanding sort of manner, at least the sound echoed pretty impressively around the room, and immediately there was a flurry of motion. Tourniquets and empty hypodermic needles were scooped up, pagers were hastily clipped back to belts, and a stampede of interns rushed towards the door, loud and rowdy and oblivious (pretty much everything Mark hated about interns in the first place).

"Whoa, whoa." He caught Lexie's arm as she passed, the one free of a practice IV still taped to her skin. "Not you, Grey. Sit back down." She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath (which Mark thought was very unlike her, the muttering, not the eye-rolling, so it intrigued him just a little bit) but moved compliantly to take her previous seat after Mark released her arm. Mark however went straight to the basement doors, poking his head out into the hallway to ensure the interns had truly fled (as expected) and no one else was around. Satisfied, he closed the doors behind him, turning only to be met with Lexie's expectant look (and how was it he had total command over the other interns but she didn't even bat an eyelash?). "What?"

"Are you making sure no one's coming to catch you taking advantage of a poor, helpless intern?" she quipped, almost curiously, and there was a playful glint in her eyes not unfamiliar to Mark. He had to hand it to her, though; Lexie had come a long way from the pathetically obedient intern who'd blushed behind her surgical mask even as she'd told him to 'shut up'.

_Still, two can play that game._ His eyes narrowed, giving him that intense, smoldering kind of look (the meaning was not lost on Lexie) and countered her question with one of his own: "Are you saying you'd let me take advantage of you?"

Lexie couldn't help the way his voice made her skin tingle.

She cocked her head to the side, as if studying him up and down (she'd seen him do it to too many nurses to not know how it was done), before answering. "Maybe…" she let the word drag, hang in the air, then shook her head, trying to keep her smile hidden. "Although rumor has is you're hot for Dr. Yang now, and she'd kill me if she found out I'd deflowered you first."

By now Lexie was just trying not to laugh, her grin already apparent to Mark, who had an almost exasperated expression on his face. "Actually," she continues, "I could page her down here for you and you two could have some…_alone time_. In fact, I'll just go now, in case you want so privacy to, I don't know, light some candles, put on a Marvin Gaye CD…" She continued babbling as she sprang out of her seat, trying to edge past Mark towards the doors. Predictably, he caught her arm again, effectively preventing her escape.

"Funny, Grey, really. You should take this act on the road" he told her, navigating her back to her seat. He sat across from her, releasing her arm for the second time that night, and rested his hands instead on his knees expectantly (Lexie couldn't help but to watch the way this made his shoulders rise, broaden, under the sleeves of his scrubs, and just for the smallest of seconds she wondered what it would be like, her hands scrambling to find purchase on them). "What do you say we lose some of the accessories first?" He nodded towards the empty IV needle in her arm.

"Oh yeah." Lexie had forgotten about that. "I probably shouldn't have been moving around, should I?"

"Definitely not" Mark agreed, reaching over to position her arm on the small surgical tray in front of them. "So how about you let me take it out?" His fingers were already at work, carefully peeling the adhesive tape keeping the needle secure away from her skin. Lexie had to suppress a shiver with his fingers dancing over her skin like that, and unconsciously scooted her chair a little closer to him. If Mark noticed, he didn't let on, and if Lexie had to she would have sworn that he, too, leaned in just the tiniest bit closer.

Then she remembered why she was in this mess in the first place; how inserting IV lines into her fellow interns had become necessary because Christina wouldn't teach her, and the residents stole her dead bodies so that wasn't an option, either (and she'd had to put up with some majorly creepy stares to get a hold of those cadavers, thanks very much, because there's only so many times a girl wants to hear "You're pretty" followed by heavy, awkward breathing). So she sighed, a little morosely, and shrugged at him. "Why? The big fancy doctor has to do it because us lowly interns can't do anything, right?"

Lexie couldn't have described the look he gave her then. She tried to dissect it and would later come to the conclusion it was equal parts annoyance, amusement, and maybe…sympathy? Only the first two were really characteristic of Mark Sloan however, so she really didn't know what to think.

"No" he finally answered. "You let me take it out because you're lucky the needle hasn't hit anything in there with you moving around, and if you get a massive bruise tomorrow that's probably the best outcome this scenario has. You're going to let me do it because that gives _you_ time to sit there and think about how stupid it was to all converge in some creepy basement and stick needles into each other's arms . What is that anyway, some sort of medical 'Fight Club'? An underground intern practice arena?" He scoffed a little at his own joke. "The first rule of 'IV Club' is- "

"-You don't talk about 'IV Club'" she cut him off, rolling her eyes again at the nickname he gave it. "I know." It was at this point Lexie realized Mark's hand was still curled around her arm, and she tried gently to tug it out of his grasp. He just kept right on teasing, however.

"You know that movie ends with the city getting blown up, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Lexie couldn't think of anything else to say, and Mark took her silence as permission to continue. By the time she noticed he'd completely removed the tape on her arm, holding the IV in place with his thumb, preparing to slide the needle out of her arm. "You don't need to do this you know, I can get it. You don't have to…"

He looked at her with that weird expression again. "I want to, Grey. What's so awful about that?"

There was an understanding reached in that basement then, and although neither of them acknowledged it they were each suddenly more aware of how little space there really was between them.

"You ready?" he asked. "This might not come out too easily. Which bozo stuck this in you anyway?"

Lexie only shrugged a shoulder, eyes directed towards the floor.

"Alright, keep your secrets. Just, if I'm dying, don't let the guy near me with any sort of medical instrument, we clear?" He was rewarded with a small smile (he was going to call it intended for him even if she still wasn't meeting his gaze) and decided not to push. "Grab me that gauze, this is probably going to bleed a little. Ready?"

Lexie reached with her free hand for a clean square of gauze, ready to hand it to him when asked. "Yeah, go ahead."

As carefully as he could Mark slid the line out of her arm, his other hand still resting over the puncture site, thumb applying a steady pressure. "I'll take the gauze now, Grey."

She offered it to him, flinching a little as the last of the IV was pulled from her arm. "Ow, that's definitely going to bruise."

Mark's hand still hadn't left her arm, his fingers now absentmindedly tracing light patterns over her skin while somehow managing to keep a firm grip on the gauze pad. Lexie found herself resting her chin in her other palm, studying Mark in a way that made him both pleased and uneasy.

"What?" he asked, and though he meant it to sound gruff, it came out more a husky timbre that seemed to affect Lexie.

She bit her bottom lip, hesitating. "You're not really interesting in Dr. Yang, are you?"

He could have laughed, but (surprisingly) didn't. "Derek just wanted me to get her out of his hair. I somehow thought it would be…"

"Less humiliating?" she offered, almost innocently (but he'd been around her enough to know that the big-doe eyes she was sending his way were masking a mischievous glint).

"…easier. I was going to say easier." The corner of his mouth curved up in a smooth grin. "You're not still pining for O'Malley, are you?"

"I made him reconciliatory macaroni and cheese" she said wisely, as if that explained everything. And in a twisted sort of way, it did. The gauze lay forgotten now on the tray between them, Mark not needing an excuse to ghost his fingers over her arm. "Do you remember that night at Joe's?"

"Mm hmm" he answered, paying more attention to bringing her palm up to his lips and placing a soft kiss on it. "The periodic table." She could feel him forming the words, his breath hot against her skin, and Lexie felt her heart hammer in her chest. Maybe it was a good thing he'd made sure no one else was around.

"Were you…" she started, a little timid to continue her question (but more distracted by Mark's trail of lingering kisses up the back of her arm, bunching up her lab coat to get to the skin underneath). "Were you going to kiss me?"

He stopped then, looking her square in the eye. "If you still weren't all gooey-eyed over O'Malley?" She nodded, and so he finished (decisive, direct). "Yes."

"Oh." And then, in a move bolder than she'd ever though herself capable of, she leaned in, resting both hands on his thighs, ready to tell him something she herself hadn't realized until just now. "I think I would have let you."

The surgical tray was overturned; it clattered to the floor as he reached for her, and Lexie wasn't surprised to find that he was every bit as good a kisser as she'd heard.

* * *


	2. Second Rule

Disclaimer: Still not mine

Okay, so originally this was only meant to be a one-shot, but the feedback for this was just overwhelmingly nice (you guys are all great!) and then the thought popped into my head that there are actually _eight_ rules of Fight Club. So here's my plan: I'm hoping to extend this to an eight chapter story (seeing the connection yet? :P), each loosely based around the eight rules. I've already got most of my ideas for the chapters mapped out, some are fitting better into this theme than others, but hopefully I'll be able to get it done. I don't have a great history with multi-chapter works, but I'm going to try as hard as I can not to give up on this! It's just a matter of actually writing a lot of the chapters out.

This one came pretty easily, though, so I thought I'd get it up here as for the next two or three weeks I'm going to be so busy I don't think I'll have time to go on the computer, let alone write on it. Hopefully this will tide you over until I can get back online and put another chapter up. Thank you all again for the feedback, and hope you enjoy!

(In case you missed it)

"The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club.

The second rule of Fight Club is: you _do not_ talk about Fight Club."

* * *

"Hey there, Little Grey."

Pathetic. She's just so pathetic, and she knows it because she can feel a delicious little coil of heat warm somewhere in her just at the sound of his voice, his breath on her ear, and really, that seems a little too clichéd even for her liking. But, still, she can't suppress the tiniest of shivers running through her, and she can practically _hear_ him smile from behind her at her reaction.

He's been hanging around her more and more lately, not that she minds, since he caught her (and pretty much every other intern on the hospital's pay-roll) playing doctor in the basement. A guiding hand at her elbow when they walked together, leaning tantalizingly close over her shoulder to check on her stitching during a surgery, he's been everywhere. She's slowly getting used to the idea. Looking forward to it, even.

She turns, surprised (although maybe she shouldn't be) by _just_ how close he is. All he has to do is reach out, rest his palms on the nurse's station counter behind her, and she'd be trapped. Flashes of the basement, of his hands running up and down her bare arms, her face buried between his neck and his collarbone, come flooding back to her, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear to distract herself.

"Good morning, Dr. Sloan" she finally replied, watching the corners of his mouth curl up slowly, his trademark smirk spreading over his features. She pretends (or tries to, at least) that she wasn't watching.

It doesn't work.

"We'll see" is all he says, looking her up and down. She wishes she would stop blushing so much, and really, it's only a matter of time before one of the nurses milling around notices (let alone her fellow interns, or Derek or Meredith…) He must have picked up on her train of thought, because he backs up, not _quite_ to a professional distance and his smirk dulls slightly from predatory to just suggestive. It must have been a big effort on his part and the thought makes her smile, too. "So, you and the rest of the peons doing another darts night at Joe's?"

He tries to sound uninterested, uncaring of her answer, but Lexie understands what he's really asking. "I'm getting a little bored of darts." She clutches the charts she's holding against her chest, before adding, "And they're not _peons_" as an afterthought (but she's not really focused on them right now, so she's not sure how convincing she sounds).

His laugh is warm and infectious. "So no darts, then." She shakes her head. "But Joe's isn't completely out." Lexie nods this time, still smiling prettily, and pats him playfully on the arm.

"You catch on quick, Dr. Sloan."

"Grey," he grins back at her, wishing they hadn't attracted the attention of the nurse sitting behind her so he could run his fingers along the top edge of her scrub pants. "You have no idea."

She looks up at him from under dark lashes like she can tell what he's thinking. "You could always _give_ me an idea. Tonight. At Joe's." Mark likes the idea, leaning closer to continue her train of thought. Lexie's eyes flickered to the sleeves of her lab coat.

She hadn't meant to draw attention to them, but the practice sutures on her arms were itching in the worst way, and between the temptation to scratch them and the (now overwhelming) temptation to rise to stand on her tiptoes and kiss him again, Lexie's forced to chose the more work-appropriate course of action.

The stitches feel a little better after scratching, though, and she can focus more now on what he's saying.

On the other hand, it gave Mark time to notice where her attention was directed (instead of him, that is, something he was quick to admit he wasn't exactly used to). His brow furrows, and Lexie can all but see the gears turning in his head.

She's ready with the story this time. Bees. She'll say it was bees, because last time she tried this, a kitten turned somehow into a scratchy hairbrush, and Dr. Yang didn't buy one word of it. But bees would work, right? So when he starts to say something, to extend his hand to touch her arm, Lexie shrinks back and assures him the itching is nothing, but…

He reaches out anyway, lifting the white sleeve of her lab coat, and is met with a neat line of five bandages. She begins to fidget.

"Huh, so _that's_ what Derek meant by fragile" he mutters, not realizing he spoke it aloud, but he has bigger things to worry about. Hand still closed around Lexie's wrist he looks to her, actually concerned. "I have to ask, Grey. Are you cutting yourself?" The last part came out an incredulous whisper, and suddenly anything in the world, any other explanation, was better to Lexie, than letting him think she was capable of doing that.

"No, no! No, nothing like that. God! First Meredith, which I guess I can understand seeing as maybe she's spoken three words to me these last couple of days and that's an unusually high number," she's rambling again, and there's no end in sight, "but _you_ of all people should know better. I mean, you're pretty much the only one I talk to around here, and I know we're not like the new Meredith and Christina, but I tell you things, sometimes." She takes a deep breath, calming down now. "And I would have told you this… you know, if this was _that_."

Mark is fighting the smirk on his face. That speech was just so incredibly _Lexie_ (a little neurotic, kind of haphazard, but well-intentioned), and he liked the way her cheeks flushed when she got worked up, but there was clearly still something serious going on here, and he needed to find out what. So he played along (but not before shooting the nurse a severe glance, who'd looked up at Lexie's sudden outburst, and just as quickly looked back down now under Mark's stare).

"So you're telling me that this is absolutely not that?"

"Absolutely," she nods, very seriously. "Uh, not, that is."

"Then you're going to have to tell me what this _is_, because either way it doesn't look good."

She tries tugging her arm back from him now, wondering what it is about their encounters that makes it so he's always preventing her escape (although it turned out pretty well for her last time), but his hold on her wrist doesn't waver, and she remains standing guiltily in front of him.

"Can we just do this later please?" she practically begs, glancing almost nervously around her.

He shrugs, and for a moment she thinks that he's actually going to let this go. But then his grip tightens, just slightly, as he begins steering her away from the nurses' station. "How about we just do it now?" he asks.

"You don't think this looks the tiniest bit suspicious?" she quips when she realizes he is, in fact, dragging her into the nearest supply closet.

He just looks at her like she doesn't know what she's saying. "Grey, I think that's the least of your problems."

The door shuts loudly behind them, and Mark takes up position in front of it, arms crossed, blocking the only escape route. His gaze, she notices, is more expectant than anything else, and he's looking at her like she's a puzzle he's almost finished. He just has to put the last few pieces in the right places. This, she knows, is a _huge _piece, and she hesitates, not sure where to start. She clutches her files closer to her chest.

"I… well, I'm not cutting myself."

He nods slowly, making his way towards her. "We already covered that" he reminds her, almost gently.

Her hands are shaking a little now, just because she knows that he's not going to like what she's about to tell him, and what Mark Sloan does and doesn't like has become increasingly important to her over the last few days. Lexie takes a deep breath, and remembering their encounter in the basement, can't help but blurt out:

"IV club!"

That stops him dead in his tracks, knowing what that means (but hoping like hell he's wrong). Lexie keeps going.

"Uh, except we're not doing IV's anymore. We've kind of moved on…. to suturing." She winces a little, wanting to close her eyes, but watching Mark's reaction is more important, so she forces them open.

If Mark is surprised, or upset, or furious (and Lexie would guess the answer is, and rightly so, 'd' all of the above) he's not showing it. The look on his face is bordering on impassive as he reaches out, tugging the folders out of her arms and tossing them carelessly on the ground next to her. She hastily shoves her hands in her pockets, now that she has nothing left to hold on to, and Lexie is a little uncomfortable with how vulnerable she feels right now. Whatever she expected to happen next, this wasn't it:

"Dr. Grey" he begins slowly, like he's talking to a five year old, "Can I please take a look at your arm?"

His question would sound ridiculous, but the circumstances now are less than comical, so Lexie just keeps her mouth shut and obediently holds her right arm out to him, rolling the sleeve of her lab coat up to just past her elbow. This time, he doesn't ask permission; he peels back the edge of the first in the row of bandages as carefully as he can. Lexie lets a small hiss of air escape her as the adhesive catches on her skin.

The stitches look purple and ugly (like stitches are supposed to, but Lexie wishes now they'd have healed a little more and didn't look so monstrous against her pale skin) and Mark, she can tell, is not pleased. He wasn't happy when he'd found her in the basement letting her peers shove needles into her arms, but this, she'd venture a guess, is much worse.

He looks up at her, dropping her arm. "You can't really be doing this. No one is this stupid, least of all you." He looks away and rubs the back of his neck, both frustrated and unsure of exactly how to go about handling this. Lexie remains motionless in front of him, not wanting to further exacerbate the situation. "Why would you even…. what could possibly make you do this?"

She's silent.

"Tell me, please, because I really want to figure this out. Do you actually think this is a good idea? That this is going to end well for you?" She would almost prefer him yelling at her than scolding her in this restrained tone. Like he's given up on her in some way. "How can you still be _practicing_ on yourself?"

Her eyes narrow dangerously (and he's never really looked at Lexie before like someone who would fight back, but now, with this expression she's wearing, he thinks maybe he miscalculated). "We have to! No one will teach us! No one cares! Dr. Yang still calls us by numbers, you know, or stupid embarrassing nicknames, like 'Lexipedia'."

Mark crosses his arms. "I thought you liked nicknames, _Little Grey_."

"No fair" she concedes, her features softening a little. "I like that one." Her hand reaches out to meet his own, tentative and shy, fingers brushing against his wrist.

Mark catches her hand, stilling it. "You're an intern. You're basically the bottom of the surgical food chain, okay?" He meets her gaze. "It's _supposed_ to be hard."

"But we're supposed to be learning things. And we're not." She snatches her hand back, somehow managing to look both hurt and betrayed at the same time. It's not the first time a woman has looked at Mark like that, but it's the first time that he's upset by it.

"There's still plenty of time…" he tries, unsure now of what to say, feeling that, at this point, anything he tries to offer her would be the wrong thing to say (he'll have time later to wonder how exactly she had taken control of this particular conversation).

"Everyone's worried about the solo surgery and they hog the skills lab and they don't _have_ time to teach us. Not any of the residents, not Dr. Yang, and not _you_!" Which isn't exactly fair, she knows (because Mark Sloan doesn't owe her anything), but she's angry and upset, and shoves him away anyways, or at least tries to, two hands pushing on the front of his chest.

"So now this is my fault?" He asks, incredulous. "I'm not your resident, Grey, if you have a problem with Yang, you take it up with her. If any of the interns have a problem with _their assigned residents_, why should they come running to me?" Mark shakes his head. "I missed the part where this became my responsibility. Like I have nothing better to do than run around baby-sitting all day."

Lexie's breath catches. "Then don't! Contrary to whatever you make think, Dr. Sloan, I don't need you hanging over my shoulder all the time. I have a job to do, too, only I have to find other ways of doing it since apparently everyone around here is too wrapped up in their own damn business!" She missed the part exactly where this became an argument, but Lexie will be damned if she lets it continue without her input.

He shrugs his shoulders, already tired of fighting. "There are better ways of handling this. You know it and I know it, even if you are being too stubborn for your own good right now." He looks at her, catching her gaze and not breaking contact. "This will end very badly for you. You realize that, right?" He gets no response. "Just…stop it while you still can."

Mark turns to leave, but Lexie calls out when his hand closes around the doorknob.

"Dr. Sloan?"

He doesn't bother to turn around, just glances back at her over his shoulder. "Dr. Grey?"

Lexie bites her lip (a habit she gets when she's nervous, he's noticed, but he doesn't want to think about that right now.) "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" And even though it came out as a question, Mark can hear it for the plea that it really is, and sighs, shaking his head.

"Second rule of IV Club, Grey. Besides," and, though she doesn't know exactly why, Lexie suddenly decides she hates him looking her at this, disappointed, "It's not my secret to tell." He shrugs his shoulders, and there is something very final in the way he walks out, leaving Lexie behind, alone with her charts on the floor and stitches on her arm.


	3. Third Rule

Again, thank you all for your kind reviews! I'm working on chapter four right now, so I'm pretty hopeful that I can manage a once-a-week update! But anyway, here's Chapter 3, let me know what you think (Mark might come across as a little mean :( But I kind of needed it to end this way to fit in with the whole Fight Club Rules theme, so keep that in mind!) Thank you again to all of the readers, and hope this doesn't disappoint!

"The third rule of Fight Club is: someone yells 'Stop!', goes limp, taps out, the fight is over."

* * *

Technically her shift isn't over for another twenty minutes, and she's pretty sure no one would mind, at this point, if she just got the hell out of here and went home. They might celebrate a little, actually, on her way out the door. But Lexie refuses to give anyone anything else to punish her for (even though she knows it was deserved today for being so reckless and stupid), and she doesn't really want to go home and face George just yet, because besides being the object of her once-crush (Lexie's still not sure she's completely over that, but she has other things on her mind right now) he's pretty much her best friend here (only friend now, since that thing with Dr. Sloan in the closet?), and she can only _imagine_ how disappointed he'll be.

So she sets up camp in the waiting room, sitting cross legged in one of the chairs, and alternating between staring blankly out the window and staring blankly at the floor. Nineteen more minutes.

He takes a seat next to her, and Lexie just doesn't have the energy right now to spend on this. He was right, she was wrong, and even though a large part of her really, _really _wants to talk to him, an even larger part doesn't even want to look at him right now. She's about to tell him this when he speaks first, surprising her.

"You okay?"

His voice is a little gruffer than it normally is with her, but then again, Lexie supposes she deserves that. She almost laughs at the absurdity of everything (was this day even real? It went by so quickly, one bad decision after the other), but the best that she can manage right now is a shaky kind of breath, and her answer changes before she can even get it out:

"No."

If Mark is surprised by the answer, he doesn't show it, just reclines a little in his chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible. "That's not the first time someone's asked you that today." It's more of a statement than a question, but Lexie feels compelled to answer it anyway.

"No."

She doesn't meet his gaze, instead staring resolutely at her sneakers, hooked on the edge of her seat, almost underneath her in some unconscious effort to ball herself up as small as she can. She can tell he's still watching her, though, and the thought is a little disconcerting.

"Is that the first time your answer wasn't 'I'm fine'?"

This question seems to come out of the blue for Lexie (although she should have known because somehow he gets her, even though he doesn't really know her), and for a split-second she's tempted to tell him 'no'. To tell him that it didn't matter _who _asked her today because she told everyone the same thing. But he'd see through it; of course she would tell everyone she was fine (not that a lot of people were asking, but still, most of the interns were just used to looking out for each other at this point). She would tell Mark the truth.

"Yeah." Her answer comes out more of a sigh, defeated and tired. "Look, could we just not do this right now? The whole 'I told you so' thing?" Her arms wrap tighter around herself, and for one brief moment her elbow brushes against the skin of his arm. Then the contact is gone again and some traitorous part of her misses it already.

He lets one shoulder rise and fall, in sort of a half-shrug. "I wasn't going to say anything." He follows her lead, staring out the window in front of them. He knows it rains all the time in Seattle, but finds it especially fitting that it's raining right now, and watches one fat drop crash against the glass, making a trail down the pane. Mark knows enough to not say anything further, instead sitting with her in silence for several minutes. He notices her eyes flicker to the clock every so often.

"I shouldn't even be here" she says, finally, and she sags a little in her seat at the admission.

"So go home, get some sleep." The corner of his mouth turns upward in what was meant to be a comforting smile. It's more sincere than the grins he offers many of the nurses (and the rest of the female population employed at the hospital) but Mark is quickly finding that he's formed a soft-spot for the littler Grey sister. "Tomorrow's another day."

She shakes her head, eyes still focused on the window opposite them (on the ceiling, on that ugly painting in the corner, on anything but him). "That's not what I mean. I shouldn't be _here_, in Seattle." She scoffs. "People don't want me here. _I_ don't want me here."

He quirks an eyebrow. "What are you talking about, Grey?"

"I wasn't supposed to be here. At all. Actually, this is probably the last place I would've wanted to be, but what does it matter what I want?" And then it all starts spilling out of her: Boston and Mass General, her mother's death and her return to Seattle. Living with Thatcher (although she sort of leaves out the drunken mess part), living with George (and he already knows about the wanting him in more than a quasi-friend-turned-friend-turned-roommate way), and how none of this should have happened.

She knows at this point that she must look like a mess (and probably sounds like a lunatic, but it's not like she hasn't been told that before), and so she shouldn't really feel anything towards him but gratitude that he's still sitting next to her and hasn't bolted yet.

And then he starts laughing a little to himself, more chuckling, really, than anything, and Lexie can't help it; she's a little offended.

To his credit, Mark tries to keep it quiet, but she hears him anyway (the shaking of his shoulders is a pretty big give-away, too). Out of all the possible reactions, Lexie muses, this is probably both the least helpful and least welcomed. And she'd already been having the Bad Day (with, yes, capital letters) to end all bad days. Mark Sloan laughing at her was the last thing she needed.

"Want to let me in on the joke?" she asks irritably, and he knows it shouldn't, but the angered look on her face makes him laugh just a moment longer before he finally calms down. He takes a deep breath, shaking his head as he turns to face her.

"I was just thinking, all this time I was right." He explains, although the meaning is lost on Lexie. He continues anyway, talking over the small sound of protest she'd been about to make. "I mean, I know it started as a teasing kind of thing, but, Grey… you really are pathetic, aren't you?"

Lexie's breath catches in her throat and suddenly she feels very sick to her stomach. Wherever this was headed, it wasn't good. "Excuse me?" Her voice is dangerously low, and Mark knows that he's gone one step too far, but he's always been a go-big-or-go-home kind of guy, and what the hell? Why stop now?

He shrugs, and with each move of his he can see Lexie becoming more and more irritated. "The whole thing with O'Malley was pathetic, sure, but everyone's bound to make mistakes sooner or later." The slight dig at George isn't lost on Lexie, and she's biting her lip at this point to keep from exploding at him (and what gave him the right to criticize her like this, anyway?) "So I could just overlook that. In fact, I tried to, because, let's face it, really? O'Malley?" He's having too much fun with this.

"George is…" Lexie starts, quick to come to his defense, but Mark waves his hand dismissively and cuts her off.

"Not my point. The point is, you just running away from bigger mistakes, like, I don't know, cutting open a fellow intern unsupervised? That's not unfortunate middle-school crush pathetic. That's a truly pathetic pathetic." He glances at her. "It's just a little funny, that's all."

Un-frickin'-believable. She doesn't even know how to _begin_ to respond to this. She tries anyway.

"You don't have _any_ idea what you're talking about."

"You can't just run away from all of your problems. Believe me, they just end up following you." His tone is more sincere now, his expression too, but all Lexie can see is the malicious glint he had in his eye when insulting her. It hurt more than it should have. "What, you're saying you have _nothing_ worth staying for?"

If he had asked her that just _one_ day ago, just this morning, her answer might have been different. But then she went and involved herself in the appendectomy fiasco (if she's being honest she was practically a ringleader to the whole thing) and he came and berated her out of nowhere for a few minutes, so really, what's left for her now? "If you're so smart, Dr. Sloan, why don't you just tell me?"

Clearly, whatever answer he was expecting, it wasn't that. Still, his face did not betray his surprise, but Lexie took advantage of the silence, leaning closer, over the armrest of her chair, and for the first time since he sat down facing him head on, gaze locked with his.

"So… Do I? Have anything worth staying for?" She asked again, happy at least that she sounded much more confident than she felt. As angry as she was at him, at herself, and as hurtful as his comments really had been to her, Lexie knew she still wanted his answer to be 'yes'. Even if she wouldn't admit it to anyone but herself (and even _that_ was a stretch).

Mark was conflicted, because there was Lexie in front of him and he knew she would forgive him if he just answered the question right. But there was also this voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like his best friend, warning him away from Meredith's half-sister, and what kind of man would he be if he went back on a _promise_? He sighed heavily, resignedly, before: "You know what, Grey, why don't you just go back to your apartment and wait for O'Malley to notice you again?"

To this, Lexie has no response, but they both know whatever this was, whatever they had, was broken now.

Neither said a word.

"Ready to go, Lexie?"

Startled, she turns in her seat to see Derek standing near the door, smiling cautiously at her, waiting to take her home. She's not sure why the thought makes her want to cry a little. Probably because she's already told herself she's not going to cry over Mark Sloan and now would be a good time for an excuse to let just a couple of tears to escape; she's not usually the one people wait for by the exit.

Hastily she grabs her coat from the floor under her chair. "Uh, yeah. Yes. Thank you." Her breath is shaky (but Derek doesn't question it because he is the sensitive one who knows how to handle fragile situations and apparently Mark is the one who makes them fragile in the first place), and she rushes to meet him by the door. "Thank you" she says again, partly because she really is grateful for a place to stay tonight other than the crap-partment or with Thatcher, mostly because she doesn't know what else to do right now.

Derek nods at her, helps her with her coat without a word (she missed the curious look he shot over her head at Mark), before holding the door open. "After you."

She walks out into the rain, thinking about Sadie volunteering to be cut open by a bunch of interns with a textbook, about Meredith and Christina standing in front of the Chief, about Mark dragging her into the supply closet and seeing her stitches. About all of this could have been prevented (and the furthest their stupid little club would have gone was inserting the IV's into each other). She could be focusing on that kiss in the basement instead of on being banned from the OR.

But since when did anything in her life go according to plan?

So this time it's Mark who's left behind, sitting alone and watching her retreating form through the clear glass of the exit doors, the rain obscuring what little view he had. He ignores the sympathetic glance Derek sends his way (because, realistically, he is just the messenger, but he's also the reason Mark needs to keep his promise above anything else), and doesn't bother following him out the door. Mark will leave later, when the scent of Lexie Grey dissipates from the seat next to him and the urge to go to Joe's to find some company for the night lessens. He drives home to an empty hotel room, that night, thinking by now he should be used to it.

* * *


	4. Fourth Rule

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Okay, so finals are over, holiday break is here, and I can officially go online again. Life is pretty good. Of course, that also means working over the holidays so I'm going to be working in a department store again over the holiday season which is never fun, but I'm pretty sure I'll have a little more free time than usual which is good news for you guys! Thank you again to everyone who took the time to read (especially those who took the time to review), and here's the next chapter!

"Fourth rule, only two guys to a fight."

* * *

Mark saw less and less of Lexie Grey over the next few days, and he had to hand it to her; she was great at hiding when she didn't want to be found. He knew the hospital in itself was a virtual maze of people, interns, and doctors running around, nurses rushing in and out of every room. It's not hard to lose yourself among all the motion, but Mark hadn't seen Lexie since he practically shouted at her in the waiting room (except for once across the hall, and when he looked over again she was gone). It was beginning to become a little problem, because for some strange reason Mark had gotten used to her presence, and he'd decided he wanted it back. He was used to getting what he wanted.

So while she'd been spending her time trying to get lost among the sea of people, Mark had spent his time trying to find her. He'd gotten lucky; when he saw her duck into the supply closet across the hall from his patients room, charts in hand (the interns were still on probation, which meant really they'd all been reduced to glorified secretaries, charting and running scut-work), he knew he'd found his chance. He finished running through Ms. Austin's procedure half-heartedly (although she hadn't noticed, shooting him a beaming smile as he explained exactly how he was going to perform her breast augmentation), keeping an eye across the hall to make sure Lexie hadn't slipped away, but the door to the closet remained closed, meaning Lexie stayed inside.

She looked up when she heard the door open, scrambling to collect some of the files that had been spread systematically across the floor. "I'm almost done, Dr. Yang, but there was no room downstairs so I had to find somewhere else, but I did Mr. Peterson's first, just like you asked so…" and by the time she stopped to get a good look at who exactly was holding open the door, Mark had gotten an impressively extensive life history on Yang's patient.

"Hey, Little Grey." He shoved the hand not gripping the door into his pocket, suddenly uncomfortable with the blank kind of stare Lexie had leveled at him.

Her only response was to start straightening the files again, spreading them back out. "You're not Dr. Yang" she said, not looking up from her work. Her tone was matter-of-fact (a far cry from her usual friendly smiles), as if she'd been commenting on the weather, and Mark knew that was his fault, mostly.

The door shut behind him as he moved closer to her, leaning up against the wall. "A blessing for which I'm grateful every day." He looked down at her, from this angle able to see only hair slipping over shoulders, and the back of her neck. It was not, altogether, an unappealing view.

"Dr. Yang is a fantastic surgeon" came the angry retort, and Lexie looked up at him this time, with a look of annoyance on her face that he usually saved for interns (he was both troubled and flattered that it worked the other way around, too).

He batted his eyes, playfully. "I don't think I could pull off the dark hair" he admitted, mimicking patting Christina's curls down, twirling one imaginary strand around his finger. This at least got the smallest of smiles from Lexie, one she'd probably hadn't meant him to see. She glanced up at him, quickly, before refocusing her attention on her work. That just wouldn't do.

Mark slid down the wall slowly, until he'd come to a sitting position on the floor next to her, long legs stretched out in front of him. He'd never understood how she could be comfortable sitting like she was, legs tucked neatly under her, elbows resting on her knees (which is not to say he'd been observing her subtle habits because if you asked any of the nurses around her Mark Sloan was incapable of remembering even someone's last name). She tensed when she felt him slide closer to her, although he was far enough away that it wouldn't be questioned should anyone walk in, and Mark frowned. "What, you think I'm going to bite?" he asked, and although it was meant to come out as a joke, Mark couldn't help but think Lexie understood that a little bit of him was all too serious.

She shook her head, before: "No, I'm not waiting for you to _bite_ me." She almost scoffed at the idea, rolling her eyes, but then she looked up at him, truly meeting his gaze for the first time, and she'd never look more like a hurt confused Bambi who'd just seen her mother get shot by the hunter (Mark was uncomfortable thinking about how he fit into that analogy). "I'm waiting for you to yell at me again." She shook herself free of her thoughts, taking a breath to steady her resolve. "So… you might as well just get it over with, please, because I've got work to do, Dr. Sloan."

Mark had no response for this, but he realized how badly he'd hurt her, and knew something had to be fixed. "I'm not going to yell at you, Grey" he offered, willing her to believe him.

It seemed she did; she relaxed a little, settling against the wall behind her, although she still looked doubtful, as though this was some kind of trick. "Good" she breathed out, fingers playing with the edges of Mr. Peterson's file nervously. "I didn't really like it."

"Hey. Listen," he started, his voice deep and serious and even though it totally wasn't the point right now Lexie felt a little shiver run down her spine at the sound. "I don't say this a lot but… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you or… scare you, okay?"

She shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to forgive him so easily, although part of her thinks she already had. "What did you think was going to happen?"

He sighed, but was encouraged by the fact that she wasn't completely turning him away. "It just came out wrong, ok? Kind of like you when you go on and on and can't seem to stop babbling-"

"I don't babble!" Lexie cut in, indignantly, her brow furrowed in a way that Mark found irresistibly…, _adorable?_ He's not usually a big fan of the word, but it seems to apply here. "I can't help it if my answers are thorough, you know, and it's not like I take half an hour to tell a story or anything. It's really not my fault, anyways, because what else can I do with a photographic memory and…uh…" she trailed off, bringing a hand to cover the shocked 'oh' her mouth had become. "Sorry, point taken" she looked at him sheepishly. "Go ahead."

He sent her a mock stern look, before continuing. "Like when you babble. I just…" he let out a deep breath, and Lexie could tell Mark didn't do this often because he was becoming more and more uncomfortable as he continued. "I didn't want you running off to _Boston_. But it felt like if you got up from that chair still thinking about Mass General, then you were just going to go, and that would've been the end of it." He took a deep breath, not used to having to explain himself to anyone (let alone a woman, see, and this is why Mark Sloan was never known for doing the whole 'morning after' thing very well). "So I needed you not to think of Boston, and I couldn't come up with any other way. Also, I don't know if you've heard any of the gossip, but I'm a huge jerk."

Lexie's face is a mask of disbelief. "Than what? Shouting at me in the waiting room?"

Then came the trademark Sloan grin, and suddenly Lexie cannot fault a single female within a five mile radius for falling into bed with him, with a smile like that. "Not one of my most brilliant ideas, I'll admit. Actually, I'm pretty surprised it didn't backfire." He shrugged one shoulder, brushing Lexie's in the process although neither commented. "Plus, I'd been kind of waiting to actually say something to you about O'Malley, so it seemed as good an opportunity as any."

"George is a good guy."

Mark fights back a mean laugh, but doesn't completely succeed. "Hey, remember when he didn't even know you existed? Was he such a good guy then?" Clearly this is something he's been waiting to say, and he catches her chin between his fingers, turning her head to face him. "Good guys don't cheat on wives who were way out of their league in the first place, and good guys don't run around hospitals obsessive with their careers, ignoring good girls who'll hopefully realize, sooner or later, that they deserve better." The way he stares at her, it's like he's making this some sort of challenge. He's pushing her, but is surprised to find that she's not above pushing back a little.

"And how would you know anything about being a good guy, Dr. Sloan? It's not like _your_ record is spotless either." But true to her (usually) gentle personality, she doesn't name names or go in to specifics (and with the way the nurses gossip around here, they both know she could). That doesn't make Mark feel any better. Lexie doesn't say anything after that, and suddenly they're both all too aware of how quiet the closet is.

He takes a heavy breath, trying to remember he didn't come here to fight in the first place. "You're right." The words come out like they leave a bad taste in his mouth, and in any other situation Lexie might have laughed. "I'm sorry. I know how much Dr. O'Malley means to you." He stops there, not looking like he's finished quite yet, but not knowing what else to say. Luckily for him, Lexie speaks up.

"He's been really supportive, you know, of the whole probation thing." She tries to explain, to make him understand that George, for whatever faults Mark sees in him, really is a nice, reliable man. "I think he can kind of relate, since he didn't pass his test the first time, so… he sort of knows what it's been like."

"Well, good for you that you finally got his attention" Mark quips, eyes averted and more upset by the news of George's re-entrance into Lexie's close circle than he should be, probably.

"He's not… I mean, George is a very good friend. That's all" she stammers, although her cheeks flush a little, and Mark can see it even in the crappy fluorescent lighting of the closet. "Remember, you already asked me and I told you? Mac and cheese?" Her hands are fluttering over her papers, picking up the discarded charts, suddenly in need of something to do. "So, if that's what you were, you know, implying, then that's fine, but that's it." It's important to her for him to know that, and both Mark and Lexie know it.

She stands up, brushing non-existent dust off the knees of her scrub pants, and Mark, too, pulls himself off up the floor. Organizing the charts in her arms she turns to face him, taking a deep breath as if to steel herself against something. "I have to find Dr. Yang, now." Her words hang heavy in the air between them, and Mark doesn't want to let her leave.

"Look, Little Grey…"

"Its okay, Dr. Sloan" she cuts him off, eyes warm and friendly again, like he remembers. "These past weeks have just been a little crazy, so… maybe we could just start over? I mean not like the whole 'oh, is this your first day at the hospital, let me give you a private tour of the on-call room' because I hear that's your big thing for new interns, but I was thinking more like the 'I didn't see any interns sticking each other with needles in the basement' starting over. You know?" The smile she gives him is wide and playful; she's all but beaming at him, and for a moment Mark Sloan can't tell up from down.

"So…" she prompts, looking up at him expectantly. "What do you say? Friends?" And she holds out a hand for him to shake, balancing the files in the crook of her other elbow.

He sighs, and the phrase '_back to square one'_ flits across his consciousness, somehow seeming appropriate here, but he extends his hand, because at this point, after his performance in the waiting room, he'll just have to take what he can get.

"Friends" his hand closes around hers and it feels right, somehow, her small hand warm in his. He lingers for perhaps a second longer than is probably appropriate for 'just friends', thumb tracing over her knuckles, fingertips tickling the edge of her palm, before her hand slides out of his.

"Good." She tilts her head to the side as she looks at him (Mark's not sure she's aware that she's done it) and smiles again. "I don't think I like being in a fight with you." The statement is just so typically Lexie that he can't help but smile back and waggle his eyebrows suggestively.

"If it keeps us ending up alone together in a supply closet I'm not sure I'm totally against it."

She shakes her head and laughs (hoping he doesn't see the way the suggestion makes her cheeks red and her pulse rush). "It's good to have you back, Dr. Sloan," she says, before opening the door, shooting him an apologetic look. "I really do have to go, though. Dr. Yang will kill me if she doesn't get these charts, and George is paying for lunch today, so I have to be on time for that!"

He offers her a small smile, playfully shooing her out of the room. "So go already" and she scampers out in true intern fashion. Mark hangs back for a moment and frowns (ignoring Ms. Austin winking and waving at him from across the hall). Somehow, he thinks, O'Malley might have just become a serious competitor for a shot with Lexie Mark hadn't realized how badly he wanted.

* * *


	5. Fifth Rule

Wow, so I have been just completely missing in action and don't really have a legitimate reason, but with the holiday season pretty much over hopefully I can get my act together. I'm not really one hundred percent happy with how this turned out, but I needed a rule number five, and this has been collecting dust on my hard drive for a little while. Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to respond to everyone like I normally do. I just wanted to let you guys know how much your reading and especially reviewing mean to me! Happy New Year!

"Fifth rule, one fight at a time, fellas."

* * *

Mark doesn't know what it is about this particular nurses' station, because there must be countless numbers of stations throughout the hospital, but he finds lately that more and more of his important discussions are happening around this specific proverbial water cooler. It's for this reason that he's not particularly surprised to see Derek heading down the hallway with that look on his face; the one that seems friendly and casual, though Mark has long ago learned how to read through it to the 'serious conversation' face hiding underneath. He tries not to sigh, straightening as Derek approaches. The man is his best friend but Mark's got other things (people, one person really) on his mind right now, and Derek's approach with that expression is not something Mark generally equates with good news.

"Hey," Derek greets him, smiling as he sets his charts down on the counter. He thanks the nurse who comes to collect them with a practiced ease, but doesn't take his eyes off Mark.

Mark nods. "Hey" He wishes he knew where this was going.

The tone of Derek's voice is so unassuming that had Mark not been paying attention to the words, nothing would have seemed amiss. "So, word around the hospital is you pulled Dr. Grey into a supply closet yesterday." The nurse looks up from filing, interested in the potential for new hospital gossip.

"What?" Mark shakes his head, hands held up in a classic 'don't shoot' gesture. "I know _you_ like your chicks all dark and twisty, but I didn't even_ see _Meredith yesterday, let alone drag her into some secluded corner, so wherever you're getting your information from, man…"

At this Derek actually laughs, full bellied with head thrown back, and Mark wants to smirk. It isn't really _that _funny. But Derek just claps him on the shoulder, shaking his head. "Not that Dr. Grey, the other one. Lexie?" He cocks his head to the side, as if he were trying to study Mark's reaction (although Mark is way ahead of him, concentrating on keeping his face casually neutral). "You remember, Meredith's sister who she warned me to warn you away from?"

So that's what this is about.

Mark feigns forgetfulness, hoping Derek will be satisfied with a traditional Mark Sloan answer. "Is there room in our lives for another Grey sister? I only remember hearing stories about yours, I just don't know if I can take any more Grey." He offers Derek a mock sympathetic smile. "Not to say that your stories aren't titillating in their own right, but I don't think they're nearly as enticing for me as they are for you. Clearly you are a man in love." The younger nurse working behind the counter now is laughing, although she at least has the decency to hide it behind an open patient file (and for the first time Mark is not at all tempted to send an engaging glance in the direction of an attentive female. Too bad for him Derek notices.)

"Actually Mark, I'm pretty sure you do remember the younger Grey. Little Grey, as you so fondly named her." He's still watching him calculatingly even as he smiles warmly, keeping up the pretense of a casual discussion. "That doesn't sound familiar at all?"

Mark rolls his eyes. "So I happened to talk to Lexie the other day. This is really the juiciest gossip you could find? Because I heard…"

But he is cut off. "I thought I told you to un-plant that seed, Mark." Derek's voice is priceless, similar to how Mark thinks his kindergarten teacher would have sounded, had she been a man. Derek is talking as if what he's saying is the most natural observation in the world, as if anyone could make sense of it (and Mark, at least, can although he's willing to bet it doesn't make quite as much sense to the small audience of nurses they've acquired). "Seeds can't grow without water. Are you watering the seed, Mark?"

Mark glances around. "Ok, we're getting some seriously weird looks right now, can we please choose a different metaphor?"

Derek's grin is beginning to become mildly infuriating. "Just answer the question."

Mark sighs and rolls his eyes, seeing no other way out of this conversation than telling his best friend exactly what it is that he wants to hear. "No, _Mother_" he stresses the word, but Derek shakes it off with a small amused laugh, "There has been no watering of any kind. Happy?"

He can feel Derek studying him, eyeing him up and down as if he can gauge how untruthful he's being simply by observation. "I'm not sure" he finally replies.

"Well, you've got lives to save, and I have noses to reconstruct so if that's it for today, maybe we could just pick this up later at Joe's where I will at least have the defense of being drunk while I listen to your lame metaphor? They're a little creepy when I'm sober."

Derek frowns at him, but doesn't argue. "You're such a pain in the ass, Sloan" he laughs, although his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. The chirping of his pager distracts him for a moment, and as he looks down to read it, unclipping it from his pants, Mark makes his escape, turning and heading down the hall towards his next patient's room. The phrase 'saved by the bell' seems particularly fitting here, and Mark is just about to let his thoughts wander off (most probably in the direction of the aforementioned Little Grey) when he realizes Derek's page must not have been an important one.

He can tell because currently Derek is walking briskly next to him, having obviously made up the distance between Mark and the nurse's station, and shooting him a questioning glance before:

"I heard you gave Dr. Torres a 'no hot interns' talk the other day. Is that what you consider non-watering?"

He shot Derek a glare. "Am I not allowed to give my friends pep talks now? I do great pep talks."

Derek shrugged. "All I'm saying is that the subject matter is of interest to me because it would be of interest to Meredith."

"What does Meredith seriously think is going to happen?" Mark questioned, genuinely curious to hear the answer. "I wasn't really under the impression that she cared either way about her sister."

Derek paused for a moment before answering. "She's trying, I think, which I'd like to encourage. She doesn't really know how to approach the concept of family, but this is a good start." He hesitates again before finishing. "It shows effort on her part, which is new for her, but admirable."

Mark rolls his eyes again, but wisely says nothing as he continues.

"And it's nothing against you, but Meredith just thinks that Lexie's a little delicate right now and probably the last thing she needs is to get involved with someone like you." He winces as he realizes how that sounds. "I mean, anyone really in the hospital, and you're an attending on top of that." They both know that's not all that he means. Apparently Derek is a supporter of the 'once a manwhore always a manwhore' school of thinking.

"I don't see Meredith going all protective about O'Malley hanging around her sister lately." Mark points out (ignoring the sudden flare of jealously that his own observation bought him, because since the appendectomy gone wrong George _had _been putting in much more face time with Lexie). "I'm just saying it's looking like I'm getting some sort of special treatment, which I'm not that crazy about."

Derek slowed his pace, attempting to stare his friend down. "Well, none of this really matters anyway, right, because you haven't been watering any seeds?" Mark sighs.

"Okay, look. Little Grey and I are friends. As in I just might occasionally choose to speak to her when I run across her in the hospital, if that's okay with you. And I heard this rumor floating around that we're a teaching hospital, apparently, so as an attending I might borrow her as an intern and take advantage of the whole photographic memory thing." He stopped in the middle of the hallway, catching Derek by the shoulder. "You don't think I can be friends with a woman?"

Derek pursed his lips, clearly choosing his next words wisely. "Mark, it's not that you're an awful human being or something, but… I just don't think Lexie's really your speed. And if it worries Meredith that you're getting close to her half-sister then it has to worry me too." He sighed, crossing his arms. "Lexie's a really nice girl, and Meredith's a little concerned about her…"

"And the last thing Little Red Riding Hood needs is some Big Bad Wolf coming to knock on her door, is that it?" Mark can't help but feel exasperated; for a supposed best friend Derek is not giving him a lot of credit here (granted Mark slept with his wife, but he'd like to believe that they'd put that behind them and could keep the past firmly in the past).

"I'm just as stuck in the middle of this thing as you are, Mark. I don't want to tell you what to do but anything that I can do to make Meredith more comfortable I will. You know that." He really did look apologetic, but what he said next erased any of the complacency he'd won from Mark: "I'm not _trying_ to make you choose me over her, Mark, but, come on. It's a one night stand with an intern you barely know, or your best friend. Not exactly brain surgery, is it?" He offered the stunned Mark a small smile at his own joke, before clapping him amiably on the shoulder.

He wished he knew how to respond to something like that. It was one thing to know that a hospital full of nurses had organized some sort of anti-Mark Sloan union (and at one point, Mark might have even considered it a little flattering that he was pretty much the sole reason O'Malley had run around as the Chief's sex police for a day, making people fill out those ridiculous forms). It was another thing entirely to hear that his supposed best friend really thought that the only thing any of Mark's attentions could amount to was some one-off fling.

It seemed Derek knew that he had said something wrong. "Hey, Mark, we're okay, right?"

Mark waved him off dismissively, shooting him a not-quite convincing grin (it was close enough, this time, though to fool Derek). "We're good. Like you said, it's not brain surgery."

Derek nodded, satisfied, before collecting himself. "Good. Then we're on for Joe's tonight. I'll buy first round and we'll find you someone more your speed to go home with." He patted Mark on the back again, before walking away, not stopping to see how his parting words had affected his friend.

Mark, on the other hand, merely sighed, unmoving, save for the hand that came up to rub his face in exasperation. Derek had made it pretty clear that there was a choice to be made. But the thing of it was, he thought as he changed directions, heading down the hallway towards the on-call room he knew Lexie liked to chart in, the decision was not nearly as hard as it should have been.

* * *


	6. Sixth Rule

Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing! It really helped me get of my ass and crank this one out (although this chapter came much easier for me than the last). This is probably going to be the last update for about a week, I'm taking a week off from work and visiting some friends out of state, but I'll do my best to work on the next chapter during my little vacation so it will be ready to post as soon as I come back! Hope this will tide you guys over until then!

"Sixth rule, no shirt, no shoes."

* * *

"So I need to tell you something. Two somethings actually." He breezes into the room as if he hadn't a care in the world, but his tone was serious and he had that hard look about him; the kind he had after dealing with a difficult patient, or when something important, something _really_ important, didn't go his way. It probably says something about her that she's started to recognize these things about him, but then he's talking again, so she remains seated on the lower bunk of the bed, and shoves her charts away from her, giving Mark Sloan her undivided attention.

"I should probably warn you, you're not going to like either of them" he cautions, standing in front of her in the empty on-call room, hands tucked neatly, efficiently into the pockets of his lab coat. She wonders suddenly if this is how it must feel to be a patient when you know in your gut that whatever news you're about to receive is not the news you wanted to hear. It makes Lexie feel out of place and edgy, and she doesn't like it.

She shrugs her shoulders, unsure of what he expects from her. "So one something at a time, then?" she asks, pushing a piece of hair back behind her ear as a nervous distraction, and Mark's face hardens, as if he doesn't like what he's about to tell her.

"Yeah" he sighs. He crosses his arms, folding them across his chest in what would have been a casual gesture in any other situation. "I made a promise to Derek, a while ago actually." She fails to see where she fits into this until, "About staying away from you."

He watches her carefully for her reaction, but finds nothing but a mild confusion. She blinks once, twice, and Mark can all but see the gears turning in her head as she tries to work this out. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I know what that means" she confesses, bringing her knees up to her chest so she can rest her arms on them. "Dr. Shepard made you promise not to talk to me?"

"It's not the talking that he's worried about." He looks her up and down quickly before speaking again (and he probably doesn't even notice he's doing it, she thinks, but it makes her flush a little anyway, his gaze raking over her). "It's what he thinks the talking will lead to."

Lexie could play coy or dumb, but she is neither of those things, and Mark doesn't expect her to be. He didn't, however, expect her to be so blunt either. "So Dr. Shepard doesn't want you to sleep with me?"

Mark takes a deep breath, settling himself on the nearest bed, facing her. "Yeah, he doesn't want me sleeping with you." They're both aware of how ridiculous this sounds; this is the stuff that daytime soap operas are made of, and while there is always a certain level of drama at any given day of the week floating around Seattle Grace, this somehow seems out of place. Mark doesn't seem as if he has anything else to add, so Lexie fills the silence.

"Dr. Sloan?"

He looks up at his name, a wry smile on his face that she still uses his surname. "Yes, Little Grey?"

She looks him square in the eye, almost apologetic, but some little detail has been nagging her since his confession and now seemed as good a time as any to clear it up. "Sorry, but, since when does Dr. Shepard get to decide who I get to…um, sleep with?" She stumbles a little over that last part, in true Lexie fashion, and Mark feels a surge of affection for her that surprises him. "Why would he care about…"

He rolls his eyes. "He doesn't. Meredith does, apparently. Derek is just a little wooden boy who happens to be dating your sister and she's the one pulling his strings."

Lexie is clearly confused. "I don't think I understand any of this. When did Meredith start acknowledging me, even if it is in the most convoluted manner I've ever heard of?"

"All I know is that Derek is the one who made me promise, and I can't break another promise to him." He shakes his head, almost reassuring himself more than he is her. "It's not really important to him except that he wants to make Meredith happy. And don't ask me how that works" he adds, seeing she had been about to interrupt, "All I know is I'm supposed to stay away from you and Derek found out that I didn't. Which is not… good."

Lexie just looks indignant, now, and her brow furrows in concentration, still trying to figure out the finer points of this arrangement. "So my sister told Dr. Shepard to tell you, to _make _you, stay away from me? Because you've pretty much done the exact opposite… in the, uh, basement" (her cheeks flushed a brighter red this time, and he wonders in silent amusement how long it will take for the color to go away) "And yelling at me after…"

"Crazy Sadie let you cut out her appendix?" he offered.

She lets one shoulder rise and fall in a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah. So, I guess my point is, why are you telling me this now?"

"There's the second thing" he reminded her, unsure of how to phrase it. "You needed to know the Derek thing first."

"Fine" she huffed, pushing her hair back away from her face. "What's the second thing? Please tell me I'll understand it better, at least."

"I'm not sure, and I don't know if you'll like it," he admitted, "but I'm used to doing what I want so I'm just going to say this anyway." He rests his hands on his knees to balance him, and takes a deep breath. "Little Grey …_Lexie_, I can't be your friend anymore."

The room is eerily silent, his words hanging in the air, but it seems like his words finally prompted her into action, the confession about Mark's promise not enough until now:

"What?" Lexie looks at him equal parts disbelieving and exasperated. "Is this because of the whole Derek thing, because that's just not fair. I know that he's your best friend and you made some stupid promise to him that he had no right asking for in the first place, but still…"

Mark gets up, moves to stand in front of her. "No, Lexie, listen – " but she continues on as if he hadn't interrupted. Her hands are gesturing furiously, though, and it's hard to get a word in edgewise (there's a part of Mark, anyway, that thinks maybe he'd like to hear the rest of this, because no one has ever really gotten this worked up on his behalf before. He sort of likes the feeling.)

"And really, I can't speak for how close your relationship with him is, but he doesn't get a say in what I do. Even if Meredith _is_ sleeping with him or living with him, or whatever. Since when does she get to decide that she knows me well enough to say who and who I'm not allowed to…_associate _with?" Her tone is full of righteous indignation, and if what Mark had to say wasn't so important, he would have been perfectly content in letting Lexie continue. However, he knew, this was not the time, so when Lexie paused momentarily to take a calming breath, Mark took his opportunity to interject.

He kneels in front of her, hands resting solidly on her thighs. The contact makes her breath catch, and her head jerks up to meet his gaze. "That's not it at all. This has nothing to do with that."

"It doesn't?" and the questioning way she cocks her head, brow furrowed, makes him lean in to her, completely and unmistakably invading her space (and he wonders idly if she knows what she does to him with her lips formed in a subtle pout like that).

Mark shakes his head slowly, hands creeping up over her thighs until his fingers brush against the warm skin under the back of her scrub pants. He watches as she catches her lower lip between her teeth, eyes slipping closed for only a fraction of a second from his touch. "This is all me."

Hands at her sides she's clutching the bed sheets, twisting them around her fingers to keep from touching him. "That sounds good. That's a good thing, right?" She hadn't meant for her voice to come out so throaty, but Lexie found she was quickly losing any semblance of control over even her basic functions; her heart was hammering out of her chest, breathing becoming more and more erratic as Mark's cool fingers stroked her heated skin.

"It could be a _very_ good thing" he agreed, moving closer still until he was nestled between her legs, her knees pressing into his sides. When her hands moved off the bed to clutch at his arms, pulling him by the sleeves of his scrubs nearer to her still, letting out a breathy kind of whimper, even the mere idea of restraint flew out the window. Mark darted forward, claiming her lips in a bruising kiss. Whatever her next words would have been were swallowed with his mouth on hers, and she moaned greedily, fingers grasping blindly at the back of his neck, keeping him pressed to her.

Mark pulled away first, pleased with the flush covering Lexie's cheeks. He kisses her again softly, only just touching his lips to hers, bringing his hands up to cup her face. His thumbs trail softly over her cheeks. Lexie leans into his touch, eyes fluttering shut as she rests her forehead on his. "So you still don't want to be my friend?" she asks, slightly breathless, and Mark can't help but laugh.

"I can't be your friend, Lexie, because I don't want to be _just_ your friend." His fingers bury themselves in her hair, and when she nods, eyes still closed blissfully, he can feel her movement. Mark continues, far from hesitant now, although he wonders if his voice is really as loud as it sounds in the empty room. "Friends don't do to each other the kinds of things I want to do to you."

"Oh" she exhales in sudden understanding. She looks at him then, smoldering eyes from under dark lashes, and her fingertips trace the outline of his lips. Then she says what is possibly the single most beautiful sentence anyone had ever spoke to him: "Mark?" (His name was like a question, unsure and shy because she'd never called him anything but Dr. Sloan before) "I don't think I want to be your friend either." They both knew what she meant.

His mouth was slanted hungrily over hers the moment she got the words out, hot and demanding and Lexie responded eagerly when his tongue slid over her lower lip. Her hands were frantic now, wanting to touch everywhere at once; they slid over the back of his head, brushing agreeably against his soft, short hair, before tracing the sides of his neck. She felt him shift their positions, pushing her gently back onto the bed while he rested his weight over her, propping himself up with this arms. The mattress groaned from the sudden weight, and the sound made them pull apart, both breathing heavily.

Lexie wriggled underneath him, settling down onto the bed, and the movement sent a wave of desire coursing through Mark. He closed his eyes as her hips rose to press to his, her back forming an arch against the bed, fighting back a groan of his own. Her hands were clasped behind his neck, pulling him towards her, and although Mark had never imagined Lexie to be so brazen, he found he quite enjoyed this side of her.

"Please, Mark?" She asked between pressing soft kisses against his jaw line, his lips, his eyelids. "Technically, you're not breaking your promise if _I _don't stay away from _you._" (And leave it to Lexie Grey to be concentrating on something as insignificant as the specifics of a contract when there is the immediate promise of more pleasurable activities present.) Her fingers were stroking down his back now, raking her nails over the skin just above the neck of his scrub top, and Mark couldn't help but return the favor, brushing his fingers up her sides. He was trying, for Derek who was his best friend and deserved his loyalty even if the promise he made was ridiculous, to keep himself under control, but Lexie was having none of it. She shivered under his touch, the cold air of the room making goose bumps appear wherever his hands had been. His fingers stilled, however, at the bottom of her scrub shirt, one movement away from lifting it up.

His eyes locked with hers, questioning (and for what might have been the first time he could remember, hesitating). "Please?" she asked again, tilting her head up and capturing his lips in another intense kiss that left them both out of breath at the end. "I want you to."

In that moment, with Lexie's eyes glassy and focused only on him, her body fitted to every inch of his, those four words were more binding than the repeated promises he'd made to Derek. And Mark realized later, when she gasped his name, breathless and panting as he sank into her, that whatever happened when they left this room would be totally and completely worth it.

* * *


End file.
